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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27482929">Love In The Time of Influenza</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghost_bitch/pseuds/ghost_bitch'>ghost_bitch</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Extended Family [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown &amp; King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Child Death, Disassociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, NOT LYDIA ITS SOME RANDO, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sickfic, Vomiting, badass barbara maitland, not beetlebabes, this was supposed to be lydia whump and beetlejuice stole the show, wow these tags make this look dark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:27:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,153</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27482929</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghost_bitch/pseuds/ghost_bitch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“The flu ?” He asks incredulously, nearly pushing the Maitlands over in order to get closer to Lydia. “What the fuck , how did she get the flu?” </p><p>“Probably from school, it is flu season after all,” Adam says, giving Beetlejuice a strange look. </p><p>“Shit, shit!” Beetlejuice says, pulling at his hair, which is flickering between red and purple at an impressive rate. “I’m going to burn down that fucking school!” He shouts. Barbara shoots him a withering glare and shushes him, gesturing to Lydia, who began making small noises of discomfort when Beetlejuice began shouting. He stares at her for a few seconds. She looks tiny in her overlarge pajamas, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. She looks young in a way Beetlejuice often forgets she is. It isn't exactly like he spends a lot of time with teenagers. Most people he had known when he was alive died by the time they reached sixteen. </p><p> </p><p>    Lydia is fifteen. </p><p>Or, when Lydia comes down with a bad case of the flu, Beetlejuice is reminded of how sickness ravaged children when he was alive. He hasn't exactly been kept up to date on modern medicine, so he assumes the worst.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Adam Maitland/Barbara Maitland, Beetlejuice &amp; Lydia Deetz, Charles Deetz/Delia Deetz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Extended Family [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2008300</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>139</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  <span>Beetlejuice does not need to sleep, but he considers this to be a technicality and can often be found snoring away in random places, ranging from the couch in the living room to the washing machine. There had been a lot of screaming when Adam had tried to turn on the machine, drenching Beetlejuice with hot water and sending him sprawling to the laundry room floor, sputtering. It is now two forty-five in the morning, and Beetlejuice has found that staying awake alone is frightfully boring, and so he is been drooling all over the pillowcase of the guest room that had quickly become his. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Or; rather, he had been. It is now two forty-six and Beetlejuice is awoken by the distinct sound of someone vomiting. He is on his feet before he is even fully awake, swinging the blanket off of himself and walking briskly to the source of the sound. The door to the hallway bathroom closest to his room is slightly ajar, spilling yellow light into the hallway. Weak retching sounds are coming from inside, making Beetlejuice’s stomach sink in dread. Maybe literally. He doesn’t know, his insides are pretty weird these days. Beetlejuice pushes the door open wider, enough for him to see who is currently spilling their guts into the toilet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>It’s Lydia. She is clutching onto the bowl of the toilet with a white-knuckled grip, her arms trembling with the effort of holding herself up. She’s wearing an oversized rock band t-shirt, one that Beetlejuice knows she stole from one of Adam’s storage boxes, and fleece pants that are too big on her, the drawstring pulled tight around her waist. The pants have little devils on them, and Beetlejuice remembers her delighted face when he presented them to her, a picture of him with the words ‘permanently banned from Walmart’ printed underneath held victoriously in his other hand. She thought the fact that he stole something so frivolous for her was hilarious. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Lydia heaves again and Beetlejuice snaps out of his terrified ponderings. He practically teleports to her side. He may have actually teleported, he can't tell, and puts his hands on her back. Lydia leans into his touch so heavily that Beetlejuice thought she had blacked out for one horrifying moment, but no, she is just eager to have Beetlejuice shoulder some of her weight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Beetlejuice does. He holds her up so that she can lean over the toilet without straining herself. She spits bile into the water, and Beetlejuice waits for her to quip something sarcastic. No words come, instead, Lydia just slumps over, exhausted. Beetlejuice quickly repositions himself so that his hands are under her armpits, slowing her descent to the cold bathroom tile. He lowers her head into his lap, ready to lift her or turn her head should she vomit again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Beetlejuice just stares at her for a few moments, running his fingers through her sweaty hair. She is clammy and pale, but there is a bright pink flush over her cheeks. A tremor runs through her, and Beetlejuice wishes he had brought his blanket with him to drape over her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit kid, what did you do to yourself?” Beetlejuice asks, cracking a smile and hoping Lydia’s too tired and sick to see through it and clock the fact that he’s terrified. The last thing a sick person needs to see was someone afraid for them. “Went a bit too many rounds with the bottle? I know you're still learning your limits but really?” Beetlejuice jokes. Lydia chuckles weakly before turning her head and burying her face in Beetlejuice’s shirt. She breathes shakily. Beetlejuice just stares, not taking his hand off of her head. He doesn't dare move and risk jostling her enough to cause another bout of vomiting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Apparently, staying still isn't enough, because Lydia is woken up barely two minutes later when she retches again. She tries to draw herself onto her elbows but doesn't manage to get more than halfway up before Beetlejuice grabs her under the arms like a misbehaving cat and holds her over the toilet. As she throws up bile and water, all the food in her stomach is already expelled, and Beetlejuice decides that he does not remember how to handle a sick kid. He takes a deep breath and swallows his pride. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Help!” He shouts, listening to his voice echo through the quiet house. Lydia retches again before shuddering with a small sob. “Help us! Please!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Beetlejuice is so focused on the trembling teenager in his arms that he doesn't notice the approaching footsteps thundering through the house until the bathroom door flings open. Standing, backlit by the flickering light of the hallway like an avenging angel is Barbara. Beetlejuice feels all the tension drain out of his body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh thank God-slash-satan,” Beetlejuice breathes. “A competent woman.” Barbara steps forward, eyes already on Lydia, worry filling her expression. Adam joins them in the already cramped bathroom, and Beetlejuice can hear Charles and Delia making their ways up the stairs. Lydia slumps against Beetlejuice again, her back pressed against his front, forcing him into an awkward hug to keep her upright. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Thankfully for everyone present, Barbara does not make Beetlejuice let go of Lydia, instead only kneels beside the two of them and puts a hand on the teen’s forehead. She pulls back with a wide-eyed look of surprise before lightly smacking Lydia’s cheeks to rouse her. Lydia blinks awake, black eyes bright with fever, a questioning hum rising in her throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey bud,” Barbara says quietly, not taking her hand from Lydia’s face. “Not feeling too hot?” </span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Beetlejuice resists the urge to snap at her for stating the obvious. Unless this was something simple like alcohol or food poisoning, then time is of the essence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you eat something bad?” Adam asks from behind his wife, eyes wide and worried at the sight of his pseudo daughter trembling on the bathroom floor. Lydia shakes her head and Beetlejuice looks up at him, slightly surprised to see Delia and Charles hovering behind them. When did they get so quiet? Barbara seemingly hadn't noticed them either, as she is looking up at them with a slightly pinched expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Delia, Charles, you two go get soup and Gatorade. She needs to rehydrate and eat something easy on the stomach.” She commands, voice leaving no room for arguments. The two of them nod vigorously and rush down the stairs, not stopping to get dressed before running to the closest store. Barbara waits for the sound of jangling keys and slamming doors before turning back to Lydia and Beetlejuice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We already have all that stuff,” She says, not looking up from Lydia. “But the last thing she needs is to be crowded, and asking parents not to hover over their sick kid is like asking fish not to swim.” Barbara and Adam both chuckle, though it’s a bit strained, and Beetlejuice wisely does not point out that they are hovering over Lydia more than her actual father and step-mother were. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>The three of them work together to get Lydia back to her room. She refuses to be carried, but Beetlejuice ends up holding her up most of the way as she slowly drags her feet along the hallway. Beetlejuice finally manages to get her in bed after shouldering open her door and he pulls blankets sound her trembling form, racking his brains (or what was left of them) to remember how to take care of someone who is sick. Flashes of his life before his death come to him in the form of terrified faces and bowls of cold water, and then dull eyes and tombstones. Beetlejuice shakes his head to clear out the dark thought. Lydia is surely not sick with something as deadly as the Black Death, there haven’t been any cases of it in centuries. It’s probably food poisoning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>He voices these reassurances to Barbara, hoping against hope that she will agree with him. Instead, she just shakes her head slowly, a hand to her chin in thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no. If it was food poisoning then she wouldn't have a fever.” She says matter-of-factly as if her pseudo-daughter is not wracked with fever in front of her. She must be more level-headed than he thought if she is able to remain calm and objective right now. Beetlejuice had known doctors in his life that panicked more than her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what do you think it is?” Adam asks from behind them, putting a bucket beside Lydia’s bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably the flu,” Barbara sighs, brushing Lydia’s sweaty bangs off of her forehead. Adam makes a noise of sympathy in his throat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Beetlejuice feels as though an electric shock has run through his body at the younger ghost’s words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The </span>
  <em>
    <span>flu</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” He asks incredulously, nearly pushing the Maitlands over in order to get closer to Lydia. “What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, how did she get the flu?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably from school, it is flu season after all,” Adam says, giving Beetlejuice a strange look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, shit!” Beetlejuice says, pulling at his hair, which is flickering between red and purple at an impressive rate. “I’m going to burn down that fucking school!” He shouts. Barbara shoots him a withering glare and shushes him, gesturing to Lydia, who began making small noises of discomfort when Beetlejuice began shouting. He stares at her for a few seconds. She looks tiny in her overlarge pajamas, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. She looks young in a way Beetlejuice often forgets she is. It isn't exactly like he spends a lot of time with teenagers. Most people he had known when he was alive died by the time they reached sixteen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Lydia is fifteen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Beetlejuice tears his eyes away from her, a frown creasing his face. He puts his hands in his pockets, hopefully hiding the slight tremble that has begun there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever,” He says ruefully, turning away from the Maitlands, who are looking increasingly concerned at his strange behavior. “I need a drink. Come get me if she gets worse.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>And with that, Beetlejuice teleports to the kitchen. He doesn't actually want to drink when something could go wrong at any moment, but sitting on the cold linoleum floor always helps him clear his head. Lydia is strong, she can pull through this. Beetlejuice tries not to think of all the mothers who told him that their children were strong only to lose them not even a week later. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>He stands, bracing himself against the kitchen counter. If he just sits around doing nothing he is going to worry himself into a second early grave. He takes a bowl from one of the many cupboards in the kitchen, nearly ripping it off of its hinges in his whirlwind of emotions. He slams the bowl on the counter and it shatters into dust. Beetlejuice stares at the glittering remains of the expensive porcelain and sighs deeply, grabbing another bowl and placing it on the counter much more gently. He is tempted to just conjure soup, but he thinks he might go stir crazy if he doesn't work with his hands at this exact moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>So he cooks. Despite the assumptions of the Maitland-Deetz family, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> cook, he just doesn't do it often. It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> much easier to blackmail or threaten people into doing it for him. He has to focus on the soup on not on the fact that Lydia may be </span>
  <em>
    <span>dying </span>
  </em>
  <span>upstairs, so he decides to make one of the more complicated recipes, though he always keeps one ear out for someone shouting his name, ready to teleport up to Lydia’s room at a moment’s notice, soup be damned. He decides on chicken noodle soup, obviously, and pulls up a recipe online. He gets through about half a paragraph about the author’s rocky marriage before deciding he can definitely remember how to make soup and tossing the phone onto the couch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>It actually goes pretty well, all things considered. It allows Beetlejuice to take his mind off of the situation at hand, and though he doesn't know how to wash dishes, he’s sure the Maitlands won't notice if one of their pots is hidden behind the radiator.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He is just finishing straining out the bigger chunks so Lydia can stomach it when Charles and Delia rush in the door, hair and pajamas dusted with large snowflakes, holding plastic Wal-Green’s bags aloft like a trophy. They falter when they catch sight of Beetlejuice in the kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought we didn't have soup,” Charles says, frowning. Beetlejuice shrugs, not looking up from the bowl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I made it from scratch.” He says distantly, not seeing the surprised look on the two parents’ faces. “Would you take this upstairs for me?” He asks, shoving the bowl of soup at the two of them without waiting for an answer. He doesn't wait to watch them walk up the stairs before turning around and walking out of the kitchen. He walks through the wall, which is not an easy thing to do considering he technically has a physical body, and into the yard. He isn't worried about not being able to hear the Maitlands if they call for him, he could walk to California and still be able to hear them as long as they say his name. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighs deeply, picking at his cuticles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>MAJOR WARNINGS<br/>disassociation<br/>flashbacks<br/>child death<br/>violence<br/>grief<br/>panic attacks</p><p>It's MY fanfiction and I get to choose the beetlejucie backstory</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>He sits down on the back porch, relieved to be away from the smell of sickness that has already permeated the house. He cracks his knuckles, bad memories playing on the backs of his eyelids no matter how many times he shakes his head. Someone is breathing really loudly, and it’s annoying as hell. He wants to tell them to shut the hell up, but he can't move his mouth. His muscles tense and his hands are brought to his chest without his permission, and he is trembling too hard to bring them back down. His vision is tunneling, but strangely he can still see the face of the kid that died. What was his name? It was… Peter? Or something very similar. He puts a cloth to Peter’s head, but the water goes warm almost immediately, and it’s not like they can get cold water this late into summer. Peter grabs his wrist, and though he is too weak with sickness to stop Lawrence from pulling away, he doesn't have the heart to remove Peter’s hand. He isn't supposed to let the boy touch him and risk spreading the infection, but he isn't going to deprive the boy of contact when everyone in the house knows the boy is on his last days.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong, kiddo?” Lawrence asks, hoping his smile doesn’t look dreadfully fake. He’s never been good at schooling his expression, just one of the horde of reasons that he isn't cut out for this job. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Shoggoth,” The boy begins, eyes filling with tears. “Am I going to go to heaven?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Lawrence freezes, thrown back to the flashes of the afterlife he has seen when his mother travels to and fro to what she only vaguely describes as ‘work’. He doesn’t know a lot about it, but it certainly is not heaven as the churches describe it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, of course.” He lies easily, stroking the boy’s hair. The boy seems appeased, lying back down and falling into a fevered sleep once more. Lawrence pulls his wrist out of the boy’s slack grip. He sits with his back pressed against the boy’s sweat-soaked mattress, letting out a raspy breath and pushing his hair back, though his fingers combing through his hair does nothing to comfort him. He stares at the wall. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>He hadn’t realized that he had fallen asleep, but when he blinks his eyes open the room is silent and the light has changed. Lawrence can feel that something is wrong, but it is not until he turns around that he realizes the boy’s raspy breathing has stopped. Lawrence gets to his feet, putting a hand to the boy’s cold neck, looking for a pulse. There is none, but Lawrence knew there wouldn't be. The smell of death has already flooded the room. It is a smell he knows better than his mother’s perfume. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>He walks downstairs in a daze. He feels like he is floating above his body, and he tries to pinch his arm to bring himself back before he tells the family of their youngest child’s death, but there is no pain when he does. The mother sees his blank expression and freezes. She braces herself against the counter and looks at him in a terror that Lawrence has gotten used to being shown. He shakes his head slightly, and the woman is dashing past him faster than he himself could ever move. He watches her disappear up the stairs and counts to three. He claps his hands over his ears and screws up his face in a weak defense of what he knows is coming. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Even with his ears covered, he can hear the mourning scream. It happens every time without fail, and it is unlike anything he's ever heard. He can't describe it, but it makes him feel like he's going to vomit. He stands up once he is sure the screaming has stopped, and sighs, following the sounds of screaming sobs to his next destination. The worst part of the job is done, but he has more to do before he heads home. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>He pushes open the door and immediately turns his eyes to the floor at what he sees. The mother is draped over her son’s bed, sobbing into the sheets, clutching onto her child hard enough to leave bruises on the greying skin. He walks to the bedside and puts a hand on the woman’s shoulder, not surprised when she immediately throws him off of her. She turns to him, eyes bloodshot and wild. She grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him close to her. Lawrence doesn't fight it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kill me.” The woman begs, voice cracking desperately. “Please, for the love of God, you have to kill me.” She says, pulling both of them to the ground as her knees give out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, no, no. I’m not going to-” Lawrence begins, trying to grab onto the woman’s arm to steady her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you don't kill me I’m going to kill myself!” She screams, her voice choked with sobs. “I’m going to kill myself! Kill me, kill me!” Her nails are digging into Lawrence’s arms. He has bleeding little crescent moons all down his forearms. He stares at them, listening to the woman beg for him to kill her, and then curse at him, promising she is going to kill herself </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>The coroner will be here soon. He just has to wait. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>He just has to wait. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>A sharp pain blooms on his cheek and his head snaps to the side. His vision is blurry all of a sudden, but he is pretty sure there wasn't any grass in that dead kid’s bedroom. A woman kneels in front of him, and he is pretty bad with faces, but he is almost completely sure that this is a different woman considering she is wearing a different dress, and her face looks concerned and slightly panicked, but not grief-stricken. His vision focuses a bit more, and recognition snaps into place. Of course, this is Barbara. He grabs her arm, desperate to ground himself while his mind swirls like a hurricane, making it hard to think. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” He chokes, covering his eyes to shade them from the blindingly bright porchlight. “Where are we?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The back porch,” Barbara says, and Beetlejuice finds himself soothed by her calm, even tone. “You didn't come when we called for you so-” Beetlejuice jumps to his feet, and somehow manages not to fall onto his ass in the wet grass despite the sudden wave of dizziness that accompanies it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lydia! Is she okay?” Barbara blinks at him from the ground, seemingly surprised by his sudden energy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lydia’s fine, sit back down.” She says, pulling on his sleeve, but Beetlejuice doesn't let her, body buzzing with the need to </span>
  <em>
    <span>act</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, shit, shit!” He exclaims loudly, wild eyes roaming around the expansive yard as he searches. He had to stop the woman. How she got away he has no idea, but maybe he had blacked out at some point. That would certainly explain the foggy numbness occupying his head. “Where did she go?” He asks Barbara, desperation creeping into his tone. Barbara blinks, uncomprehendingly, and he barely resists the urge to shake her by the shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lydia’s upstairs-” She begins, but Beetlejuice has already wrenched himself out of her grip to better search the darkened yard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, not Lydia. The woman!” Beetlejuice explains, waving his hand. He knows he’s being vague, but he doesn’t have time to explain the situation to Barbara. He turns to her again, and something in his expression makes her flinch. “Please, help me.” He says, and he is so desperate that he doesn't even care that he is begging. He grabs the front of her dress but just as quickly lets go when he remembers the woman doing the same thing to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Barbara, she’s going to kill herself if we don't find her!” Beetlejuice yells, sounding more than a little deranged. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Beetlejuice!” Barbara barks, grabbing his shoulders to stop him from running. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Who </span>
  </em>
  <span>is going to kill themself.” Beetlejuice grabs her wrist, though his grip is slack. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peter, or I- I think that was… was his name… his mother…” He says distantly. He blinks back hot tears and wonders why he feels the need to cry. Something close to understanding dawns on Barbara’s face and she grabs both of his wrists. Her nails don't dig into his skin. They can't, she keeps her nails short because she spends so much time in the garden. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Beetlejuice, you’re having a flashback. No one else is here.” Barbara says, and although Beetlejuice still has that strange foggy feeling, the assuredness of her statement makes him stop struggling against her grip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But- but she said she… she wanted me to kill her... “ Beetlejuice says, though he doesn't know what he’s arguing. “The… the coroner will be here soon. I just- I just have to wait.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>The face in front of him swims, flickering between Barbara and the grieving mother. He can't be sure of who the person in front of him is, but if he lets go of the mother she will kill herself. He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>pretty</span>
  </em>
  <span> sure that this is Barbara, but the porchlight had put a blue spot in the middle of his vision, obscuring her face and leaving nothing but wispy blonde hair. He can't remember if the woman was blonde or not. He isn't going to take that chance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Beetlejuice’s knees give out and the woman supports him as he falls, slowing his descent enough that he won’t wake up with achy knees tomorrow. Do his knees still ache these days? He can't remember. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Beetlejuice pants to the woman, desperate to make her understand. “There was nothing I could do.” When the woman looks up from where she had been sobbing into his shirt, the grief is still there, Lawrence doesn't think it will ever go away, but there is something else there too. A spark of rage has been lit in her eye, and her hands tighten on his arms, making him wince as her nails dig into fresh cuts. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” She hisses, hands already shaking with rage. “You were supposed to help him…” Before Lawrence can move, the woman has her hands wrapped around his neck and is slamming his head into the floor again and again and again and again and-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>The woman is pulled off of him, still screaming and struggling against the coroner. Lawrence doesn't get up, just lies where he was left, bleeding into the worn carpet. He doesn't move until the coroner leaves, taking the woman, her dead son, and the horrible screaming along with him. He gets to his hands and knees and vomits. He supposes it doesn't matter. The smell of vomit is better than the smell of death, after all, and he doubts this room will ever be used again. He walks out of the house, only half aware of what he’s doing. Blood drips from his nose, and the back of his head is caked with drying blood. The pounding in his head reassures him that he has a concussion, but he can handle that when he gets home. People give him odd, pitying looks, but no one stops him, so he keeps going.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He… he keeps going. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Beetlejuice,” Someone says, but he can't see. Why can't he see? “Beetlejuice, I know whatever you're seeing feels real, but you're having a flashback.” Beetlejuice makes a low, keening sound that he will never admit to and puts his hands over his ears. The woman gently moves his hands away, but he can feel where his head and arms are bleeding and he knows she won't be gentle for very long. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, fucking stop.” He croaks out, eyes darting around, desperate to figure out what’s going on despite his vision blurring with tears. He can only see the hazy figure of the woman. “I’m not- I’m not a doctor, I could </span>
  <em>
    <span>do anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” He insists. The woman grabs his wrists again, and he jerks back, already feeling her hands around his neck, and tangled in his shirt and digging into the soft flesh of his upper arms and being pulled away-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, please, I can't leave until the coroner gets here-” He pushes himself backward until his back hits… something, and covers his face with his arms, hoping to ward off the woman’s attacks for a while longer. Nothing comes, however, and when he looks up the woman is gone. He relaxes, though he is a bit confused about how he got outside. He sort of remembers someone saying they were in the backyard, but his head is hurting too much to focus on that little factoid. He tucks his head in between his knees until he hears the sliding back door open, looking up warily to see if the woman had somehow gotten away from the coroner and was coming back to finish him off. It’s not her who is walking up to him, though, it’s a tall man with messy brown hair and a square jaw. He is slightly see-through, which really should alarm Beetlejuice more than it does. He runs through the list of people he knows in his head to see if he recognizes this man from somewhere. It takes a little while, as his brain is not working at full capacity right now, but the name Adam comes into his head and with it a rush of familiarity. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Adam sits next to him, but he doesn't look at him, instead turns his face to the stars. Beetlejuice feels such an immense rush of relief at this that it surprises even him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” Adam says, and Beetlejuice appreciates the casualness with which he approached the situation. “Lydia loved the soup.” Beetlejuice perks up despite himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lydia’s awake?” He asks. Adam nods. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yup, she’s asking why you made soup and then left without bragging about how good it was. Said it was unlike you.” Beetlejuice drags a hand over his eyes, embarrassed and slightly disgusted by the drying tears he feels there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, I know I shouldn't be sulking out here when she’s got the </span>
  <em>
    <span>flu</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Beetlejuice says, leaning against what he now realizes is the back fence. “But fuck, I haven't seen anyone that sick since…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Beetlejuice trails off, and Adam doesn't prompt him to continue. They sit in silence like that for a while, staring up at the stars and listening to the frogs peep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you know that I used to be a hospice… person, I guess?” Beetlejuice says as a way to break the silence, surprising himself. That wasn't what he had meant to say, but he was already halfway through the door at this point. Adam nods for him to continue, not looking away from the stars. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I- I was supposed to stay with- with whoever got sick. You know, until they kicked the bucket.” He waves his hands around vaguely. “And then… tell the family when it happened.” Adam makes a small, disquieted noise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that explains why you were so freaked out,” He muses. Beetlejuice hums in agreement, already feeling incredibly drained from his breakdown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m surprised you're taking this so well,” Beetlejuice grumbles. “No offense, but I would have thought you’d be the first person to break down when their kid gets sick.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Adam pouts, and at any other time, Beetlejuice would have relished in the opportunity to tease him about it enough to make him blush, but right now he just doesn't have the energy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I’m not that spineless,” Adam argues. Beetlejuice snorts derisively. “I’m not!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>The conversation falls into a lull after that, and the two of them sit for a few minutes longer. They both jump when Adam’s phone rings. He glances at the caller ID and clicks the green button to answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lydia’s throwing up again,” Says Barbara from the other line, voice muffled through the phone. Beetlejuice is on his feet in a second, Adam only moments behind. Not willing to waste any time, Beetlejuice grabs Adam’s shoulder and teleports both of them into Lydia’s room. Adam grabs onto Beetlejuice to steady himself when their feet hit carpet, his face taking on a sudden green tint. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh my… Beej, warn a guy, would you?” He breathes, but Beetlejuice pays no mind to his irritation, all his attention already on Lydia. She looks miserable, but she is at least awake now. She is being supported by her father while Barbara slowly tips a glass of water into her mouth. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Slow sips, Lydia. You’ll throw up again if you drink too fast.” Barbara mutters. Lydia gives her an impressively withering glare for someone as sick as she is. Beetlejuice vanishes the vomit from the bucket by Lydia’s bed, as he is pretty sure no one is willing to leave Lydia’s bedside to clean it right now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>After Lydia drinks all of the water Barbara had brought her, she falls back into a feverish sleep. Only Charles and Delia leave the room, as they still need to sleep unlike the other three adults in the house. If Beetlejuice can even be counted as an adult. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>The three ghosts sit around the bed in silence. Beetlejuice occupies most of his time with stopping himself from running back outside to get away from the smell of vomit and sweat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Deetzs can afford good doctors, right?” Beetlejuice says eventually, breaking the silence. “Because if not I could totally rob a bank for you-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beej,” Barbara interrupts with a chuckle. “I’m sure they can afford a doctor.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“And I’m sure Lydia will tease you relentlessly for how much you worry when she gets better,” Adam says, a small smile on his face. Despite the couple’s lighthearted tone, Beetlejuice feels irritation rise in his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why the fuck are you two so calm?” He hisses, making sure to keep his voice low despite his anger. “She has the </span>
  <em>
    <span>flu</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and you two are acting like- like she just needs to sleep it off!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>The Maitlands stare at him in slight shock at his outburst, but Beetlejuice isn't done. </span>
</p><p><span>“Have you two just lead such privileged lives that you've never seen what this sort of thing can do to someone?” Beetlejuice has started to pace around Lydia’s room, the roots of his hair beginning to turn red. “I mean, if she does bite it I’ll make sure that she gets the best of the best, but it’s still gonna suck for </span><em><span>everyone</span></em><span>! And what about her parents! They can't follow her if she does die!” Barbara opens her mouth to interrupt, but Beetlejuice waves his hand and her voice is taken from her throat. “No! I have to say my piece. Even if she makes a full recovery, and that is a </span><em><span>big</span></em> <em><span>if</span></em><span>, she still is going to be all...</span><em><span>weakened</span></em><span>! Winter starts like </span><em><span>next month</span></em><span>! It would be a goddamned miracle if she doesn't get pneumonia or-” </span></p><p>
  <span>“Beetlejuice.” Lydia interrupts, awoken by his rant, making Beetlejuice freeze in his tracks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, sorry scarecrow. I didn't mean to wake you up with my freak-out-” Beetlejuice says, but pauses when Lydia holds up a hand, fixing the Maitlands with an exasperated look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did anyone think to tell him that a cure for the flu was found, like, sixty years ago?” Lydia asks, crossing her arms. Everyone in the room freezes, both of the Maitlands putting a hand over their mouth at the same time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So… you're not dying?” Beetlejuice asks tentatively. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Lydia says, rolling her eyes. “I’m going to be tired for the next two weeks and then I’ll be fine.” Beetlejuice is filled with so much relief that he sinks to his knees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my fucking God. I’ve been freaking out for...what time is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Almost five,” Adam replies, looking at his watch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-For two hours for no reason?” Beetlejuice asks, his irritation at not being informed damped under the relief that his best friend is not going to die. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beetlejuice we are </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> sorry,” Barbara says, looking horrified, hand still over her mouth. “We didn't even think that you didn't know the flu has a cure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever,” Beetlejuice says, rolling onto his back to look a the glowing stars on the ceiling. Lydia had been pissed that he had snuck them up there, but they grew on her. “I’d normally be really mad, but I’m too tired from freaking out.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>The room is quiet for a little while before the Maitlands look at each other and do that annoying thing that married couples do where they have a conversation with their eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whelp,” Adam says, slapping his knees before he stands and helps Barbara to her feet. “We’re going to get some sleep. Beetlejuice, would you keep an eye on Lydia for a few hours?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Beetlejuice nods, choosing not to remind them that they don't need to sleep. The two walk out the door, leaving it open a crack so the room is not completely dark. Neither Beetlejuice nor Lydia say anything, and Beetlejuice is content to listen to his friend breathe, reassured that she isn't dying any time soon. The silence is broken with the ruffle of fabric as Lydia lifts the blankets, gesturing for him to get in the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can't get sick, right?” She asks as she nestles into his side like a particularly cuddly cat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, dead things can't get sick.” He says, trying to find a position that won't cause him to wake up without feeling in any of his limbs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just checking.” She says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Since when have you been so clingy?” Beetlejuice asks as she buries her face in his shoulder. She mutters something incoherent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, what?” Beetlejuice asks, putting a hand to his ear mockingly. “I don't speak bitch.” Lydia looks up from his shoulder, scowling. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>said</span>
  </em>
  <span>: I get cuddly when I’m sick,” Lydia repeats, her face red in a way that has nothing to do with fever. Beetlejuice laughs quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s cringe.” He says as she tucks her head back into his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever, you still smell bad.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you smell like vomit.” He shoots back. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I can't help that.” She mutters sleepily. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>They lie there for a while, long enough that Beetlejuice thought Lydia had fallen back asleep. He nearly jumps when the teenager speaks again. </span>
  <span></span><br/>

  <span>“Were you really that worried about me?” She asks. Beetlejuice is about to make some sort of quip but hesitates when he hears the genuine emotion in her tone. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah.” He admits, wrapping his arms around her a little tighter. “I saw lots of people die from stuff like this when I was alive, kid. As much as you annoy me, I don't want you dead.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Lydia hums thoughtfully at his response. Then, a mischievous smile blooms on her pale face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you cry?” She asks with a raspy laugh. Beetlejuice would shove her off of him if he wasn't sure that she was holding on tight enough to rip his shirt if he tried to remove her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I take it all back,” Beetlejuice huffs. “I wish they’d never developed a cure for the flu.” Lydia laughs quietly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>She falls asleep pretty quickly after that, still pressed into Beetlejuice’s side. Beetlejuice is soon to follow her into unconsciousness, and the two of them sleep well past noon, checked on every few hours by the other members of the house.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>And if a couple of pictures are taken then that’s nobody’s buiness. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks 4 reading!! There will be a second chapter soon!! Leave a comment if u liked it please!! If you've ever written then u know how important comments r 2 boost morale!! And if you havent written, comment anyway!!!!!!!!!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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